


Meetings

by silentflux



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: maleslashminis, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-30
Updated: 2007-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentflux/pseuds/silentflux





	Meetings

_**FIC: Meetings, Giles/Wesley, FRM**_  
Title: Meetings  
Author: Andrea/[](http://silentflux.livejournal.com/profile)[ **silentflux**](http://silentflux.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: FRM  
Fandom: BtVS & Angel  
Pairing: Giles/Wesley  
Warnings: Slash....does that count anymore?  
A/N: This was written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=bethnyc)[****](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=bethnyc)for the[](http://community.livejournal.com/maleslashminis/profile)[ **maleslashminis**](http://community.livejournal.com/maleslashminis/) AU Round (whose request is at the end of the fic). It's probably a little bit more contrived than you wanted, but I hope you like it anyways :)

It was fun but definitely challenging to write - my muses were stubborn and willful, but I hope everyone enjoys the final result. Thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=onigami_nanashi)[****](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=onigami_nanashi),[](http://freetodream5.livejournal.com/profile)[ **freetodream5**](http://freetodream5.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://csi-chic-jayme.livejournal.com/profile)[**csi_chic_jayme**](http://csi-chic-jayme.livejournal.com/) for the encouragement. Much love to [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=onigami_nanashi)[****](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=onigami_nanashi)and[](http://freetodream5.livejournal.com/profile)[ **freetodream5**](http://freetodream5.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

  
~ * ~ * ~

"Ah, Wesley," the man behind the large mahogany desk sighed. Eyes sharp, body still fit, Roger Wyndam-Pryce greeted his own son like a servant or an afterthought, an underpinning of distaste with every action and word.

"You asked for me?" Wesley inquired coolly, knowing the only reason he had come was because he'd been specifically requested. He'd long ago given up hope that his father would actually welcome his presence. Now, he only attended the elder Wyndam-Pryce when specifically called. Like a dog.

"Yes, yes," his father agreed, gesturing to one of the purposefully uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk. "I wanted to discuss your next assignment."

Wesley looked up, startled. This was the first he'd heard of a new assignment. Mostly he'd been kept off on his own performing maintenance checks on equipment that would never again be used or performing data mining insignificant facts for operations that were never completed. It was also odd his father was taking this time to talk to him. Normally, it would be that arrogant prig Quentin Travers.

"Assignment?" Wesley finally forced out, realizing his father was waiting for some kind of appropriate response.

"Yes, do keep up, Wesley." Adamant displeasure dripping from every syllable, the elder Wydam-Pryce outlined Wesley's next assignment. France? To negotiations with an armsdealer with another agent. Lovely. His first field job was to catch someone who enjoyed torturing people - that was a real salve to his frayed nerves. His father certainly hadn't forgotten not to pull any punches. "And, Wesley. Keep an eye on Giles. We need a separate report on his actions as an agent as well." Wesley's head came up, eyes wide with surprise. He'd heard no such talk about an internal investigation into Rupert Giles. Giles was a stand-up operative so far as he knew, so far as most of the female and male agents who'd ever had the pleasure knew. This was odd. But it was his assignment. Nodding, Wesley looked over at his father, expectantly. "We want to know if his actions are...appropriate. We've heard some disturbing things from others that he's been neglecting his true duties, letting the Americans take arrests that should be ours. And damn it, they shouldn't have had that intelligence."

Wesley fought back the expression of shock that was threatening to expose itself to his father. Giles? Possibly giving up information to the Americans? That was just unacceptable, and he suddenly understood why the investigation had been started. It was bad enough that Giles didn't follow the rules and showed his utter disdain for some of them. But to allow the Americans to have some of the arrests? There had to be something else going on, Wesley told himself.

~ * ~ * ~

  
Wesley was waiting somewhat patiently at the hotel bar in Paris where he was to meet Rupert Giles, MI-6 agent and suspected traitor (according to his father). It was beyond rude, Wesley thought. He'd been here at the appointed time, and now it was two hours later. He'd checked in via his mobile, and had been told he'd be met...eventually. Sighing, he indicated to the bartender that he needed another.

"On se connait? {Do I know you?}" The question rolled over Wesley and he sighed. Of course, he would be in Paris on business. He'd already turned away several offers, and this would be no different.

"Non, je ne pense pas...{No, I do not think so...}" Wesley responded without looking up, the familiar phrases rolling off his tongue.

"Je vous offre un verre? {Can I buy you a drink?}" the same voice countered, and the waiting agent's patience snapped.

"Non, merci, {No, thank you}" Wesley kept his tone firm and distant as he sipped on his already existing drink of club soda.

"Mais pourquoi pas? {But why not?}"

Sighing in exasperation, the field agent shifted until the hand on his shoulder fell away and gave up on being polite. "Va voir ailleurs si j'y suis! {Get out of here! literally: go somewhere else - see if I'm there}"

An amused chuckle sounded in his ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh of his neck, and he shivered, pulling away as an unwelcome hand wrapped around his waist. "Now, is that any way to speak to your partner?"

Wesley sputtered and turned around, only to be greeted by blue eyes sparkling with humor. His body tingling with the remnants of Giles' body heat, he stated indignantly, "Is it your habit to greet all your associates that way?"

"No," Rupert Giles admitted. "No usually." Full lips twitched and the older man leaned in to murmur, "Mais tu es adorable... je parie que tu es un bon coup. {But you are very cute...I bet that you're a good lover}" The words danced along Wesley's skin, leaving electricity in his wake.

"That is none of your business, Mr Giles," Wesley told him stiffly, his back straightening at the presumption to hide the vivid pictures flashing in his head.

"Of course," the other agent murmured, drawing back just enough so that it wasn't particularly impolite anymore, eyes smirking as they tracked the lovely blush creeping up the younger man's neck. "Now, how about that drink?"

Sighing, Wesley motioned over the bartender. This was going to be a long assignment.

* ~ * ~ *

In their hotel suite, Wesley pulled out his computer and pulled up the file. "Marcus Hamilton and his right hand Holland Manners supply more than 35% of the weapons in northern and central Africa. Lately, he's been attached to several noted terrorist leaders. We're to introduce ourselves as buyers for a contingency in Asia, a continent that Hamilton has been trying to break into for years."

"Yes, yes," Giles answered, pouring himself a scotch. "I've already handled the covers. You and I are associates, looking for weapons for a buyer in Asia." The older agent smiled sweetly. "And as Hamilton has a...predilection for younger, bookish types, I've already claimed you."

Wesley's head whipped up so fast, his neck popped in five places. "What?! What do you mean, claimed me?"

Giles just smirked and leaned against the bar. "What do you think?"

"What?! How?! I mean - "

"You'll just have to wonder, now won't you?" The sparkle in the older man's eyes really irritated Wesley.

* ~ * ~ *

"You need to get used to my touch." The words were purred in his ear, causing Wesley to shiver. He could hear the other man smirk as a body was slowly applied to his, heat and weight and touch. Oh God. Wesley practically jumped away from the older agent, moving swiftly across the main room of their suite.

"What?" he finally managed, voice weak and thready as his pulse sped up, eyes wild and looking for an escape.

Chuckling, Giles followed him across the room, until he'd backed him against the bookshelves, hands resting on either side of the slimmer man, trapping him. "We're together, remember? Can't have you jumping out of your skin every time I touch you. I'm very...tactile, you know." Leaning in and sliding a knee between Wesley's, he stared into eyes dilated from fear and arousal and breathed, "So you'd best get used to it."

Wesley heard a quiet sound from his throat that he refused to categorize as each word brushed soft lips against his. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this close to someone, and his body ached with its betrayal even as his mind had him turning his head away. The rumbling amusement from the older man vibrated through his entire body, setting nerves on fire until his whole body felt so over-sensitized he thought he would scream or at least moan which would be just as embarrassing. The sudden and unexpected sharp sensation of teeth being dragged over the thin flesh of his neck, hot breath ghosting over soft skin, wrenched something even more horrifying from him as he whimpered and arched up into the body tormenting him, his cock making its desires evident against the other man's thigh. Flushing and trembling, he all but collapsed as Giles drew back, lifting a confused gaze to the other man's retreating form. It was a long while before the anger began to burn away the humiliation.

* ~ * ~ *

Wesley nearly jumped out of his skin the first time he felt Marcus Hamilton's hand on his ass. It was disconcerting how the armsdealer had somehow fixated on making him as uncomfortable as possible while still maintaining a polite facade. They were at a cocktail party on a boat that was owned by the said armsdealer, trying to ingratiate themselves as buyers to the other man. But every time Hamilton walked by, he leaned or brushed or pinched or palmed until Wesley's jaw was permanently clenched with the effort not to rip the man's spine from his body. He could manage it. Probably.

"Don't you find that most men who have such decadent boats and don't even use them are just...compensating?" The tenor of the older agent's voice slithered along Wesley's spine. The younger man fought not to show his surprise at the blatant insult to their target.

"And isn't it true that those who neglect their toys lose them?" Hamilton countered from behind Wesley, one of his hands coming to rest possessively on the younger man's hip.

Giles eyes flashed as Wesley stepped away from that touch, feeling the slime of it slick on his skin. He carefully stepped into Rupert's personal space and leaned, grateful at the ease with which the older man's arms wrapped around him. "I don't believe I feel neglected," Wesley countered, his voice a purr as he turned to meet the cold, dead eyes of their mark.

Hamilton nodded once in defeat, the anger and calculation in his eyes made the hairs on the back of Wesley's neck stand up.

* ~ * ~ *

Wesley rolled his eyes when he saw the tuxedo laid out on his bed for him with a note from the other agent. Apparently, he was supposed to make an appearance at some Charity Gala with the other man for the purposes of meeting with Hamilton again. Wesley shivered at the thought of the armsdealer, uneasy at the thought of being anywhere near the man. Giles had apparently been too impatient to wait for Wesley to get done with his phone call and had left a note with instructions and directions. Snorting, Wesley purposefully chose another shirt to wear and left off the colored bow tie in favor of the dark grey which matched the vest in his closet.

Dressing carefully, he hurried down the stairs just in time to see Giles pull away in an Italian sports car. Rolling his eyes, lips twitching when he realized the other agent must have waited until he knew Wesley was coming downstairs, he ignored the parking attendant and hurried over to the Porsche he'd rented, tires squealing as he hurried to catch up.

* ~ * ~ *

Wesley pulled in just behind Giles, laughing joyfully even as his heart beat hard enough that his chest almost hurt. The other man must be crazy to maneuver through Paris traffic like that. And those cops were definitely unhappy. He didn't care though as his eyes met sparkling blue, and another delighted laugh escaped him. It was the most freeing experience he'd had in, well, ever.

Tossing his keys at the parking attendant, he willingly wrapped himself around Giles as they made their entrance, nerves tingling when he heard the older man murmur, "Bloody brilliant, you are."

They made quite the entrance, both breathless and laughing. Rupert quickly directed them toward the bar, ordering two scotches, neat before turning to gather the other man possessively to him, eyes scanning for the reason they were here.

A happy sigh crossed his lips and without even thinking, Wesley leaned in for a soft kiss, loving the touches and thriving on the heated praise in the older man's eyes. "You look beautiful, Wesley." Seeing the rising blush, Giles smirked knowingly, his hand petting down the strong back, along his spine until it came to rest just above his ass. The younger man shifted, and looked up with true wonder shining in his eyes for a moment.

Suddenly, a noise caught his attention, and Wesley tensed before informing Giles, "He's here."

~ * ~ * ~

"Don't panic," Wesley said, tremor in his voice, speaking more to himself than Giles.

"Thank you, I was just thinking of screaming and running for the hills," Rupert's dry tone made him flush with embarrassment.

"Don't," Wesley hissed, shifting restlessly in his restraints as he strained to pick the lock.

"Now, now," tsked the deep, cold voice they'd both been dreading. "MI-6 agents trying to escape. How...ordinary." The small pin the younger agent had been using to pick the locks on his restraints was yanked from his grasp, catching on soft skin and tearing as it was pulled away roughly. A small pained sound managed to escape his throat, and Wesley colored as Giles' back straightened, muscles tense. "Now that is interesting..."

Hissing as he felt someone grab him by his cuffs and yank him up, arms twisted at a difficult and painful angle behind his back, Wesley asked, "What do you want?"

He was dragged away from Giles, his legs kicking out at his captors, fear rising in his throat.

"I don't think so," came a clear, confident voice - American and definitely female. Twisting his head, all Wesley saw was a flash of long blond hair as he was dropped unceremoniously on the floor and a very loud gunfight and scuffle ensued. Pulling himself over to what he guessed was a workbench, Wesley grabbed a thin wicked piece of wire and attempted to pick the locks again, fingers clumsy with lack of blood and feeling from the abuse to his arms and the pressure of the tight cuffs. By the time he was free, he looked across the room to see a young blond woman securing Hamilton and his men with Giles stumbling to the doorway, gun in hand.

Bewildered, Wesley glanced back and forth between the two of them, barely registering the true pride shining in Rupert's eyes. Blinking hard, the younger man barely even heard the girl chirp, "Giles, is your friend alright there?"

Immediately, the older agent moved to his side, murmuring, "You'll take care of this?"

"Of course!" she answered cheerfully as she accidentally stepped on one of Hamilton's goons as he tried to move.

No, Wesley thought. My father can't be right. Giles isn't -

And that was all the coherency he had left in him as the shock of the last few hours settled into his bones, his numb hands shaking even as his body trembled with reaction. Oh, God, he couldn't imagine what that bastard had had planned for them. That was the thought hammering in his brain that allowed Giles to maneuver him out into a car and back to their hotel. He felt as if he'd barely blinked and he found himself sitting on the edge of the whirlpool in their suite as the older man retrieved the first aid kit from his bag.

The chill of the tile seeped through the thin material of his pants and slowly stroked through his body until Wesley was no longer sure if he was in shock or just cold. Teeth chattering, he looked up into worried blue eyes, tone accusatory as he stated, "You're working with the Americans."

"Well, they are our friends," Giles responded flippantly, pouring antiseptic on a cotton pad and carefully gathering Wesley's unresisting hand to begin cleaning the ring of uneven abrasions from the metal restraints.

Sighing in exasperation, not even thinking about subtlety and knowing that Giles wouldn't appreciate it in any way, the younger agent looked up. "Don't. Just tell me."

"And why should I?" The words poured out, suspicious and barbed, and Wesley pulled back, grabbing the cotton in his other damaged hand and began cleaning his own wrists, pointedly ignoring the other man.

"Wesley -"

"No, I'm not some idiot here to be dazzled just because you think -" Shaking his head, feeling the way his hair stuck to his scalp and forehead and wincing, he pulled back even more.

"She's a recruit," Giles sighed softly, startling with both his words and the touch at Wesley's jaw. "She works for me, Wesley. What else do you need?"

"But my father and Travers, they think -" He snapped his mouth shut even as he leaned into the gentle touch.

"I know very well what those arrogant idiots believe and what they wish," Giles told him almost harshly. "They want me out, and they wanted you to find something to help them get me out. They didn't want to believe that Buffy is mine - I trained her after the CIA practically threw her to her death."

Wesley looked up sharply. "You...trained her? But -" His heart sank as he remembered the beauty there and his head ducked, Giles' hand slipping away. It was a deep-seated ache in his chest at the thought of Giles and Buffy. He sighed and pulled back, just now realizing how much trouble he was actually in. His father and Travers, not to mention the sudden feeling of despair settling somewhere low, curling around his spine at the thought of Miss Blond American CIA agent and Giles.

"Wesley." Giles followed the younger man, kneeling in front of him and reaching up to cup his face. His eyes softened when he saw the hurt and confusion in dark eyes. Smiling sweetly, he leaned in and let his lips brush against Wesley's.

Blinking up into blue eyes, Wesley sighed and leaned into the older man, mouth opening up under that soft kiss and groaning with the sensation. A soft tongue stroking over his, exploring every inch even as he did the same, the taste bursting over him - citrus, musk, desperation and need.

Pulling back, a dazed grin on his face, he muttered, "Oh."

"Exactly," Giles agreed. "So then, Wesley. Feel up to a vacation?"

"Vacation? But - "

"Vacation." Hands pulled at the tattered dress shirt the younger man wore and Wesley's own came up to rip clumsily at Giles' own. Gasping at the sensation of skin on skin, Wesley fell forward as the older man pulled him to his feet and slowly danced them toward the master bedroom.

"But -"

"Vacation." Giles mouth descended, stealing all other protests from Wesley with deft licks and nips until the younger man was panting for breath.

"Alright. Vacation. But I'm driving." Giles laughed and pulled the other man down and into his arms, wrapping them both in warmth and comfort. Breathing in the older agent's scent, Wesley began composing his speech to Travers and his father in his head until clever fingers found his waistband and lips latched onto a sensitive pulsepoint and all thought poured away from him, splashing as it hit the ground in a spectacular show as his blood pooled much, much lower. He could worry about that later. After his vacation.

~ * ~ * ~

Prompt: Giles/Wesley, Both spies working for MI-5. One of them may or may not be a double agent, but the only way to find out is to have James Bond-esque car chases, seduction scenes, expensive liquor, and lots of sex. Would prefer lighthearted tone and tuxedos ripped off each other, but that's optimal. No death/maiming of either boys, bullet graze to be tended with shirts off is ok.  



End file.
